


when there was still sunshine

by EverShadow



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Love, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverShadow/pseuds/EverShadow
Summary: Pre-Mighty Nein. As a child, Yasha joins the Dolorav tribe. There, the tribe trains her to be a cold, ruthless warrior whose only use is to be effective in battle. It takes a young hunter named Zuala to show her she can be much more.
Relationships: Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

The Skyspear anticipates good news when her second-in-command rushes in earlier than expected, unscathed by what should have been a grueling expedition. He struggles to breathe once he's in the hut, and the Skyspear taps her fingers against her crossed arms.

"I assume based on your appearance you encountered little to no difficulty, Dorev," she says flatly.

"No, yes, matron it..." Dorev manages to compose himself before the Skyspear's mood turns frustrated. "We encountered no difficulty in seizing the village. It's just, there was..."

"Spit it out or I will have someone replace you and your rambling," the Skyspear snaps.

"Everyone was already slaughtered." This takes the Skyspear by surprise, and she uncrosses her arms.

"Explain."

"When we got there, everyone was already dead. Well, almost everyone. We found a child." The Skyspear walks to her table and pulls out an ornately carved chair and promptly sits. Her silence is enough to prompt Dorev to continue. "There's no obvious cause of death, no poison, it's as if everyone just...died." He neglected to mention the fear plastered on each of the corpses. He shuddered just thinking about what horror they saw right before death.

"You mentioned a child."

"A cursed child no doubt. We found her unconscious in the center of the village, surrounded by the dead." He shifts uncomfortably, unsure if the Skyspear would be satisfied with this outcome. They had set out to conquer the village, to extend their own tribe's land. But they hadn't a plan to kill everyone in the village, even if that had been a possibility. And the child...he felt uneasy just thinking about her.

"Is she responsible?" Incredulous as it sounds, the thought had also crossed Dorev's mind.

"I don't know, matron." He bows his head. "But the way the bodies were arranged...like they were running from her. And they all looked afraid." The Skyspear's silver eyelashes quirk up at the image.

"Where is she now?" The Skyspear stands.

"A little ways away from town, a few of my warriors have her in chains. I don't want to risk bringing her here, and with her whatever demonic magic desolated that village." She brushes past him quickly, and he scrambles to follow her.

"I want to see this girl," she orders, and Dorev balks.

"But Skyspear, the girl is cursed."

"Do I need to repeat myself?" She levels a steely gaze in his direction that chills him to the core.

"No, matron. Please, follow me."

The girl is paler and sicklier than the Skyspear imagined. Awake now, her head leans forward, not daring to look anyone in the eye. She couldn't have been more than nine or ten years of age. Dark, tangled hair covers most of her face. The Skyspear steps directly in front of her and Dorev moves protectively to her side, ready to jump in should the girl try anything.

"You're the one responsible for killing everyone in the village?" The Skyspear asks without dulling the words. The girl says nothing. The Skyspear steps towards her and reaches out with her hand. She grabs the little girl by her chin and forces her gaze up.

"I asked you a question," she hisses. The little girl snarls and snaps at her hand. Dorev pushes the Skyspear aside and backhands the girl hard enough to send her sprawling.

"I told you, matron, we should kill the girl. She's cursed, and she'll bring misfortune on the tribe." A smile snakes across the Skyspear's face when she watches the little girl scramble to her feet, still growling like a feral animal. 

"Dorev, you see a cursed child. I see potential and an asset." Dorev's eyes widen, and he sputters.

"Skyspear, I strongly urge you to consider the harm this thing can bring on us." 

"She's a child, Dorev, don't be so rude," the Skyspear chides derisively before turning her attention back to the girl. "Do you understand us?" The girl mutters something in a language that the Skyspear recognizes as Celestial. It all clicks, this girl is an Aasimar.

"We should dispose of her," Dorev hisses. "Skyspear I beg you..."

"This girl could be valuable to us as a warrior."

"Surely you can't be serious!"

"I am." She turns again to regard Dorev with severity. "Let us have a little wager. Find one of your students, I don't care which. Let the girl fight for her life. If she loses, you get your wish, and the girl is taken care of. But if she survives, then you will personally train her." Dorev bites his lip hard. He glances back at the little girl, running through the scenarios in which she would be a danger. But he was not one to go against his matron's wishes.

"Gwen'il," he barks. An elf of fifteen years and stocky for her race strides up to Dorev. She smooths her short, cropped brown hair against her head, and stands straight.

"Sir?"

"Come with us." His voice lowers so the rest of the group cannot hear. He seizes the chains from his guards and nods to the Skyspear, who in turn acknowledges both him and his student.

"We'll return shortly," she says to the rest of the warriors. "Go and celebrate your victory, however unorthodox it was." The rest of the warriors relax and shuffle back towards their village. Some cast a meaningful glance at Gwen'il, nodding approvingly at Dorev's choice and knowing what trial awaited. Silently, the four of them make their way south of the village, through dense but well-walked brush. Flies accost their every step as if the insects knew that one of them will not make it back. When they reach a clearing in the forest, Dorev yanks the chain, and the little girl stops short. A dirt pit lays in front of the four, the size of six graves stacked next to each other, and, Dorev smirks, will serve the same purpose for their captive. The Skyspear turns to the little girl, and in Celestial says,

"<You must fight to survive.>" The little girl's violet and emerald eyes widen. Dorev, not knowing what his matron said, stood in place until she nods to him, and he unshackles the little girl.

"I hope you put up a little fight," he grumbles before shoving her into the pit. She tumbles head over heels, her face cut up by the sharp dirt and rocks that line the bottom of the pit. Dorev tosses a sword at her, and it clatters next to her. She makes no move to pick it up but she gets to her feet and hands and looks at the Skyspear with wild panic. Gwen'il jumps down and unsheathes her blade.

"This won't take long," she hisses and lunges at her. The girl jumps out of the way and scrambles to a corner. She looks desperately at the Skyspear and speaks for the first time Dorev has heard.

"<Please don't make me fight!>" He looks at the Skyspear with the expectation that she'll translate, but she watches expressionlessly as Gwen'il stabs again.

"Not going to pick up the sword, eh? This will be fast then." Gwen'il lunges and this time the flat of the blade catches the little girl across her shoulders. She yelps and as soon as she hits the ground she scrambles to get as far away as she can. She claws at the dirt walls, desperate for space, but the pit's design was for close combat, and it isn't long before Gwen'il bears down on her again.

"She won't even fight back!" Dorev gestures exasperatedly. Still, the Skyspear remains motionless and expressionless. The little girl can't dodge fast enough and Gwen'il's blade finally finds the soft flesh of her thigh. The little girl screams and tears well up in her eyes.  _ It won't be long now, _ Dorev thinks.  _ And we'll be done with this matter.  _ He glances over at the Skyspear just as her eyebrows furrow together and he looks back.

The little girl had stopped screaming. He could see her eyes now, still wild but red as if she'd gone several nights without sleeping. All the muscles in her thin frame bulge and he can see a vein in her throat pulse quickly. Cold dread floods his veins and he opens his mouth to warn Gwen'il but the Skyspear silences him with her gaze.

Gwen'il jumps at her and the sword catches the girl in the ribcage, digging into the flesh so that blood springs to the surface and darkens her clothes. But it's as if the girl couldn't feel it and before she has a chance to pull back, the little girl's hand clamps around the blade with such force that she can see blood pooling in her palm. Her eyes dart to Dorev for guidance but only sees fear in his eyes. When she looks back, she can see why. Dark tendrils lap at the girl's shoulders. Her eyes are completely bloodshot now and she grins maniacally. The tendrils wrap around her hand as if drawn to the blood, and the shape soon takes a form that reminds Gwen'il of skeletal wings she'd seen on a decayed bat. The fear hits her as though she'd been struck in the stomach with a hammer. She screams and lets go of the sword, falling onto her back. Her arms dig into the dirt as she claws to get away from the advancing little girl but her body won't move far. Now the shadows extend from her body, threatening to consume her entire being.

"Get away!" She shrieks. She's so focused on the writhing shadows, that she doesn't see that the girl is holding her own blade dripping with blood. Fear freezes her into place. The little girl is almost on top of her before she feels the cold metal bite into her flesh, right between her ribs. She gasps and looks up into the grinning visage of her killer. The girl twists the blade and Gwen'il chokes on her blood, tears forming at her eyes before she collapses back.

"NO!" Dorev launches himself into the pit and grabs the girl. He throws her forcefully against the dirt wall, ignoring the shadows that creep along his arm as he does so, leaving a cold, numbing sensation wherever they touch. As soon as she hits, the shadows disappear and she crumbles into a pile. "You are a demon, and I will deal with you as such!" He picks up the blade the girl had not used and bears down on her.

"Stop!" The Skyspear's voice is force enough to halt Dorev in his tracks. "Do not touch her." She drops in beside her, and Dorev looks from his slain student to the one nursing her injures in the corner.

"You saw it!" He gestures angrily. "This girl is possessed by a demon!"

"I saw a girl pushed to protect herself," the Skyspear retorts. "I saw a girl who understands the lengths she needs to go to survive."

"Skyspear..."

"I've seen enough. To replace your fallen student I will give you a new one." She turns to face the small girl, now cowering in terror. "<Shh, shh, no one will hurt you, you've proven enough.>" She leans down and effortlessly scoops the girl up in her arms. Shaking as she was and scared witless by the imposing matron, she makes no move to try and escape the Skyspear's embrace.

"I still believe you're making a mistake, matron."

"Then do what you can to turn this mistake into a warrior befitting our tribe," the Skyspear commands. "<What is your name, young warrior?>"

"<Yasha,>" the little girl trembles.

"<Yasha, from today on, you are part of the Dolorav tribe. As such, I will give you a new name to commemorate your new life.>" She thinks for a moment.

"<Yasha,>" the Skyspear announces formally. "<Your new name will be Orphan Maker.>"


	2. Chapter 2

"Parry!" Dorev yells, bringing his club down on Yasha's unprotected shoulder for the third time as Yasha reels from the blow. She stumbles backward as Dorev walks slowly towards her to close the distance. "I said, 'Parry!'" He swings again and Yasha deftly moves under the blow. With a hoarse shout, she raises her training club high above her head and charges him. Dorev scowls, steps to one side, and cracks his weapon into her ribcage. Yasha drops her stick and crumbles into a ball, heaving for breath. She gingerly touches what is sure to be cracked ribs. Her teacher doesn't relent. He brings the club down again over her back and Yasha yelps in pain and scrambles on hands and knees to get to a safe distance.

Dorev throws his arms down to his side in frustration as Yasha angrily watches him from the corner of the room, shallowly breathing broken breaths.

"See yourself to the healer," he huffs, collecting her discarded weapon and tossing both aside. "Then come right back and we begin again." Yasha picks herself up from the ground delicately, using the walls of the hut to support her as she hobbles towards the entrance. Dorev watches her with disdain, only noticing that the Skyspear had entered, and had been watching when Yasha nods to the matron.

"Skyspear." The Skyspear nods back and Yasha continues to limp her way outside.

"I see training is going well. The girl is, what, learning how to take her blows?" the Skyspear says with arched eyebrows. Dorev scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"I've been training her for almost a decade, Skyspear, and she's no closer to being the warrior you envisioned."

"Doesn't that speak more to your abilities as a teacher than it does to her predilection as a student?" Dorev's ears color and he looks away at the jeer.

"Yes, Matron." The Skyspear walks along the edges of the training hut, touching each weapon gently as if to take account of what was there. Her eyes fall on dull training swords, clubs, morning stars, and spears.

"How does Orphan Maker fare against the other trainees?" She pauses at a particularly large greatsword gathering dust behind the other weapons. Her lips curl into a nostalgic smile, finding fond memories as she holds it in her hands.

"She does well enough," Dorev deflects as much as possible. In truth, those who went up against her were few and far between. Most of his students feared the fast-growing Aasimar. Those who did volunteer to fight, did so only to prove more to their peers than to either Dorev or themselves and usually left the sparring session in the hands of the healer. For her age and experience, Dorev was loathed to admit that Orphan Maker was by far his most promising student.

"Well enough?" The Skyspear repeats and amusement tints her voice. "High praise, knowing you."

"You know all, Skyspear," Dorev relents. "But she's young and impulsive. She can take a great number of blows but hardly connects. And she runs on instinct, not her head."

"We both know instinct cannot be taught. Everything else can be." She nods to Dorev's shin, where a bruise blackens on his skin. He looks down in surprise and when he touches it, his legs shake and nearly give way.

"When did...?!" he exclaims in surprise. His adrenaline, now waning and giving way to sharp pain, must have disguised when Yasha had landed a blow. The Skyspear grins her approval and leaves Dorev to sputter over his new wound.

* * *

Zhuye, the tribe's healer, already has her hands full when Yasha walks through her door. An orc rests fitfully on the table as Zhuye stitches a gash on his hip together.

"Should have stuck close to Zuala, she would have gladly taken care of that boar with an arrow." The orc screams into his tunic as Zhuye applies a salve to the wound. "You'll be bedridden for some time. Ask your mate to apply this every few hours, come back if it looks infected." She gingerly helps him off the table where his mate takes one arm and slings it over her shoulder. The two of them notice Yasha in the doorway and make it a point to give her as much space as the tiny hut allows them to make their exit.

"Orphan Maker," the healer acknowledges without looking up from her work station. "Third time in as many days. Dorev must be running you into the ground."

"He likes to keep you busy," Yasha jokes flatly as she hops up on the table without prompt.

"Heh, he should come see me himself then." Yasha stares at Zhuye and realizes how often she forgets that the two of them are mates. Dorev, with his mirthless personality, hardly felt like a good match for Zhuye, whose firm but kind attitude always put Yasha at ease. She was one of the few people in the tribe who didn't see Yasha as some sort of curse to be avoided at all costs. 

"You had a busy morning?" She nods to the pool of blood left by the previous patient. Zhuye rolls her dark eyes as she inspects the many bruises on Yasha's body.

"That idiot," she scowls, jerking her head in the direction of the exit. "was supposed to be Zuala's protection. Instead, he found himself on the receiving end of a rampaging boar. Zuala had to abandon her hunt just to bring him back."

"Will we have enough food for the week?" Yasha asks. Zhuye presses into her broken ribs and Yasha yells in pain as the healer sets it back in place.

"Not if you keep eating the way you do," the healer teases. "You've grown. Seems like yesterday you and I were the same height."

"We haven't been the same height in years." Zhuye not so subtly presses hard into a bruise as she casts healing hand. Yasha winces but nods acceptingly. She closes her eyes and focuses on the warmth wrapping around her injuries. The bruises fade and with every passing second, it's less painful to breathe.

"I wish I could do what you do," Yasha sighs. It's not the first time she's expressed such a sentiment.

"You and I both know the path the Skyspear has chosen for you," Zhuye replies.

"It's just not fair. No one else my age has a path chosen. They get to try many different things, why don't I?" The healer doesn't speak, partly because mending bones takes all her concentration, and partly because they've had this conversation before.

"There." Yasha looks down and only the faintest of bruises remain on her torso. She looks at Zhuye gratefully. "Tell Dorev the next time he wants to use you as a punching bag, that I'll do the same to him for exhausting me so much." She winks at Yasha, earning a rare smile from the lanky barbarian.

* * *

When Yasha gets back to the training hut, she finds Dorev chatting with a lithe, dark-skinned human girl. A mess of curls spills from the top of her head, cascading in a tight ponytail behind her back and flaring out at the bottom. Even darker freckles cover her from her face to her bare shoulders. Her leather-clad figure stands at ease while she talks, and when Yasha enters, her dark eyes turn to regard Yasha with a faint sparkle of recognition.

Not fear.

"It's about time," Dorev grumbles. "I have a task for you." Yasha nods, unable to look away from the girl now clearly sizing her up, judging by the way her eyes study the broad expanse of her shoulders and trail all the way down to her feet. She shifts uncomfortably in place. Dorev gestures towards the girl.

"The last warrior had an unfortunate accident accompanying our hunter. Your job is to not disappoint as he did." Yasha nods again in acknowledgment, thinking back to the orc on the healer's table. This must be the girl that Zhuye mentioned in passing, Zuala was her name?

"Glad to have you with me," the girl offers hopefully. Yasha doesn't respond and the girl awkwardly shoulders the bow slung around her back. "Well, we'd best get to it before my quarry decides to leave for safer forests." Yasha walks over to the stack of weapons and chooses a shortsword for herself, perfect for not making too much noise. She ignores Dorev's glare as she follows Zuala outside the hut. 

In truth, she's glad to be in the forest. Here she can relax in its isolation and beauty. The problem lies with her comrade, who eyes her every so often, a curiosity Yasha is all too familiar with. Usually the inquisitive would conclude that she was far too dangerous to be close to and would retreat to the safety of distance. But Zuala seems content to lead alongside her. They walk for some time in silence. Zuala checks the ground for tracks, footprints, broken branches, sometimes stray hairs in shrubs that Yasha would have missed. She's convinced that their hunt will go wordlessly when Zuala speaks half an hour into the forest.

"We haven't properly been introduced. My name is Zuala, Zuala Nydoorin." She extends an arm. Yasha stares blankly at her outstretched hand, unaccustomed to anyone speaking to her, much less seeking physical contact. The girl holds her hand out long enough that Yasha can tell she won't be deterred.

"Orphan Maker," she responds, hesitantly taking her hand and giving it one firm shake.

"I confess, I know who you are, pretty much everyone in the village does," the girl replies. Yasha bristles, waiting for her judgment. "I hear you're an incredible warrior." The compliment takes Yasha by surprise, and she can only utter,

"In training..." she corrects. Zuala laughs, another sound Yasha has seldom heard in her rare interactions with other members of the tribe.

"Well, from the rumors you're already better than many of our official warriors. Orphan Maker, was it?" Zuala tilts her head and studies her. "That can't have been the name you were given at birth, was it?" The conversation sends Yasha reeling, unsure of how to approach it. It sets her on edge.

"The Skyspear gave me that name."

"It's such a morbid name, no offense to the Skyspear," Zuala sighs. "But she isn't your mother. Were you too young to remember?" Yasha shakes her head but doesn't give her the answer she seeks. Suddenly Zuala ducks down and grabs Yasha's arm, pulling her down with her.

"What's wr-" Yasha starts before Zuala covers her mouth with her hand. A moment of silence passes between them, Zuala fixated on something in the distance before she removes it.

"Good, it hasn't seen us," she whispers almost too quietly for Yasha to hear. She points towards the dense undercover before them. "Do you see it? About fifty meters ahead of us." Yasha follows her finger and concentrates. She can't make out anything beyond the dark green and browns of the foliage.

"I don't see anything," she whispers back.

"Look! Right there, to the left of that twisty tree." Yasha looks again. Movement catches her eye under a distant prickly bush. Her heart quickens with excitement as Zuala nocks an arrow and draws the string back. Yasha looks at the hunter with anticipation, but Zuala shoots her a smile before relaxing.

"Do you want to give it a try?" she asks, offering the bow. Yasha sputters and pushes it back.

"I don't know how," she admits. Zuala grins and forces the bow into her hands. Yasha glances over to where the boar was. It hadn't moved but she wasn't sure how long it would be before it noticed them.

"Give it a try, I'll teach you," Zuala presses. Yasha takes a deep breath in, and mimicks the pose the hunter chose before. "Elbow higher." Zuala gently guides Yasha's arm with her hand, and the foreign feel of someone else's skin on hers sends her whole body into a state of panic. She's not used to tenderness, apart from Zhuye.

"Take a breath and relax into it," Zuala's voice is right against her ear and she stiffens against her. "I said relax."

"I am," Yasha lies. She can feel the hunter's disapproving gaze on her and she exhales, letting her shoulders fall a little.

"Better." Zuala adjusts her shoulders, follows the anticipated tragetory of the arrow. "Perfect." Yasha lets the arrow fly, and it soars through the still forest air. She hears a loud squeal of pain and barely has a moment to celebrate that she's hit her mark before she hears the roaring thunder of a charging beast. The boar crashes through the underbrush, eyes red with aggression and fixed on its attacker.

"Move!" Zuala snatches the bow from her hands and shoves her aside. In one smooth motion, she pulls an arrow from her quiver, nocks it, and fires. It sings through the air and finds true its target. The arrow sinks into the boar's eye, and it lets out another squeal of pain, redirecting its anger to its new attacker.

"Zuala!" Yasha pushes off one leg and tackles the hunter out of the way just as the boar rushes past them, tusks flailing in what would have been bloody and deadly contact. It turns a few feet away and Yasha draws her blade. But she doesn't need to. The boar regards them with shaky legs before it topples after taking another step toward them. The two catch their breath, waiting to see if the beast would move again.

"Thank you," Zuala breathes, slinging her bow over her shoulder and advancing on their now dead prey.

"I should be thanking you, you're the one who killed it," Yasha deflects. Zuala shakes her head and gestures towards the arrow embeded in the boar's leg.

"Not many can claim to find their mark on the first try," she says with a brilliant smile. Heat creeps along Yasha's neck, and an entirely new feeling wells up in her chest. "You will have to help me carry this beast back though."

"Yasha," the barbarian blurts out, and Zuala regards her quizically. "My name. Before Orphan Maker. It's Yasha." She hasn't said it in so long, that it feels like it isn't her name at all.

"Yasha," Zuala echoes, as if turning the name around in her mouth. She smiles again, and Yasha feels her stomach flip. "That's a pretty name, much prettier than Orphan Maker by far."

"It doesn't matter though, the Skyspear said my name is Orphan Maker." She bends down to help Zuala hoist the boar over her shoulders. This would feed the tribe for at least a few days.

"Which do you prefer?" It takes a long time for Yasha to understand what Zuala had said. No one had ever asked for her opinion before. She's used to being told what to do, where to go, what to think. She weighs the question in her mind and conflict clouds her thoughts.  _ Orphan Maker, Yasha, Orphan Maker. _

A faint memory flickers in her head. A tall, fair-skinned woman wraps her in an embrace. The woman's laughter peals bright in the sun. She calls her...

"Yasha. I think I prefer Yasha." 


	3. Chapter 3

Yasha steps lightly as she charges Dorev with her club. Her soft, quick footsteps gain strength and speed as she nears with her weapon raised menacingly. She reaches him quickly enough that he has to roll away to avoid the brunt of her strike and even then her club grazes his shoulder with enough force that shocks run up his arm. He clambers to his feet just as Yasha swings around to deliver another overhead blow. Dorev only has time to raise his club in defense and a crack echoes through the room. Yasha's hit smashes clean through his and connects sharply with his forehead. Blood flows in an instant down his tan skin, pooling at his feet as lights dance in front of his eyes. Yasha immediately steps back, shock on her face. When the room comes into focus, Dorev lashes out with his foot, catching the back of Yasha's ankles and knocking her supine. Unsteadily, he rises to his feet and wipes the fast dripping blood away, only for more to obscure his vision.

"Never let your guard down," he warns, staggering in place.

"If that had been a blade you wouldn't have been able to catch me off guard," Yasha retorts but worry colors her voice. Dorev shakes his head, tossing his broken club aside. He blinks repeatedly, trying to stabilize the room around him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he snaps. "But...good work." It's begrudging but there's pride in his compliment and Yasha beams.

"Thank you."

"Don't let it get to your head," Dorev hisses as he holds his sleeve to the open wound. "You've come far in these last few years, but there's so much more for you to learn. You haven't mastered half of these weapons. Pick one of those and practice while I deal with this mess." Yasha picks through the cache of training weapons with a huff.

"I don't see why, I like my greatsword just fine," she says with a look at the silvery blade resting in the corner. It had been a gift from the Skyspear for her twenty-first birthday, a sign of her progress towards becoming a true Dolorav warrior.

"You must be prepared to fight with whatever you have, you'll never know-"

"Hello!" A bright voice calls out. Yasha spins on her heels, excitement shining in her expression. Dorev groans as he turns to look. Zuala pokes her head through the doorway, grinning when she sees Yasha.

"Hello again, Zuala," Dorev says through gritted teeth as she enters the training hut. She carries her bow and satchel.

"Looks like Yasha got the better of you today," Zuala teases, glancing at him.

"Another hunt?" he asks as Yasha picks up her greatsword in expectation and bounds over to her side.

"We have quite a village to feed. This one especially." She pokes the barbarian playfully in her stomach, even though there is nothing but muscle where ever she touches.

"There are other warriors," Dorev pantomimes like he has a row of them standing behind him.

"She's my favorite, hardly gets in the way." He throws his hands up in exasperation, knowing that Zuala wouldn't relent unless she got what she wanted.

"Fine, but have her back before the afternoon. I don't want her to waste too much of her time out there. I am off to see my wife." They're gone just after he says "fine".

* * *

"I think you've been besting Dorev every day now," Zuala cheerfully leads Yasha into the woods, though not in the direction of their usual hunting grounds. Yasha follows without complaint, happy to go where ever the hunter took her.

"Not every day. But it is getting easier," she replies humbly.

"If he knows what's good for him, he should petition the Skyspear to make you an official warrior as soon as possible," she responds, turning to regard the barbarian with pride. Yasha blushes under her gaze.

"So, where are we going?" She asks, trying to redirect the conversation. Zuala flashes her a mischievous grin and opens her satchel, revealing a freshly hunted hare.

"We both have been working so hard, so I got up early, hunted a hare, and we," she punctuates the "we" by turning and grabbing both of Yasha's hands, "deserve a break." Yasha grips her hands in return, but her eyes widen in surprise.

"But..." Zuala instantly brings a finger to Yasha's lips.

"We've hardly had any time to relax," she argues. "And what, are you so eager to return and kick Dorev's ass again?" Yasha can't help but smile at how much planning Zuala had put into stealing her away for a bit. She heaves a fake sigh and rolls her eyes.

"If you insist."

They walk for quite some time through the forest. She's used to cutting a path through the undergrowth, but Zuala insists on leaving as little trace as possible, claiming that she didn't want anyone else finding her little hideaway.

"Found it while chasing a fox," she explained. They stop at a sheer rock face, and Zuala searches along the side until she spots what she was looking for. "Here." She pushes away some heavy vines, revealing a small tunnel.

"And you think I can fit into that?" Yasha balks.

"Shush you," Zuala ribs. "You'll fit just fine as long as you stop eating all the rabbit stew at dinner."

"But it's my favorite." The hunter pushes her towards the small opening. It is a tight fit, but Yasha manages to squeeze her shoulders through and the opening widens further in until she can crouch and crawl. Eventually, it's wide enough for Zuala to join her and together they advance through the cave.

"Smart fox," Yasha compliments as her eyes adjust.

"Not as smart as me, remember?" Yasha does. Zuala had returned just the other day with a fox in hand. She can hear rushing water now, and after a few more minutes of walking, they find the source. A waterfall obscures the path, coming down from some unspecified height, creating a wall of rushing water that blocks the path ahead.

"Are we here?" Yasha asks, turning to confirm with Zuala. Her cheeks instantly color when she sees the hunter stripping down to nothing but undergarments, discarding her clothes along the path. She averts her gaze and grits her teeth but the image burns into her mind of Zuala's lithe body, her long graceful legs, the strong muscular frame of her shoulders, the curve of her back as she stands.

"Yasha," Zuala's voice draws a sheepish glance just as the hunter winks at her and jumps through.

"Zuala!" Yasha yells. As quickly as the color rose in her cheeks, it drains just as fast. She grasps the edge of the opening. Below, she hears a loud splash, followed by laughter.

"Jump, Yasha!"

"You're insane!"

"Come on! Don't make me wait!" Yasha backs up and shakes her head in disbelief. She takes her greatsword and sets it down against the wall and takes a deep breath. She gains a running start and bursts through the waterfall, opening her eyes just in time to see the distance she would fall. Her screams echo in the cavern walls as she plummets down into the pool of water below. She breaks the surface with a large splash and immediately swims up, gasping for air when she reaches it.

"Took you long enough," Zuala laughs, playfully splashing water in her direction.

"Oh, you want to play this game?" Yasha opens her arms wide and Zuala's shrieks of laughter fill the space.

They lay, sides touching, after exhausting themselves chasing each other in the large pool. Zuala tilts her head on the ground slightly so that her head leans on Yasha's shoulder and they watch the florescent mushrooms flicker slowly on the cavern wall.

"This was...perfect," Yasha breathes contently.

"I told you," Zuala chides. It'd been so long since Yasha relaxed like this. Her body ached from training and being in the cold water helped everything feel better. And her company couldn't have been better. Zuala had become a fixture in her life these past few years, something unexpected but surprisingly needed in her life. She'd known small amounts of kindness from the other tribesmen and women, but Zuala exuded it in multitudes around her. When training days or trial days were particularly harsh, she knew where to go for comfort.

"Yasha, I have a question." Zuala props herself on her elbows to look at her. Yasha opens her eyes and stares at her quizzically, expecting the question, but not getting one.

"Yes?" She asks after watching Zuala chew on her lip for some time.

"It's nothing." The hunter flops back down and it's Yasha's turn to roll over to her side.

"What is it?" Zuala sits up suddenly and draws her knees into her chest, an uncharacteristically timid move for an otherwise assured woman.

"Has the Skyspear talked to you about assigning a mate to you yet?" she blurts. Yasha blinks in surprise. The thought seldom crossed her mind. In her head, it was a distant possibility, one that was much lower in priority than many of her other concerns.

"No...not yet...wait." Her stomach turns in discomfort and she can't place the root of the feeling. "Has the Skyspear assigned you a mate?" Zuala shakes her head and Yasha unknowingly sighs in relief.

"No, but...I can't imagine it'll be long before she does." It occurs to Yasha that Zuala is nearing the older end of when mates are assigned. She is a couple of years older than Yasha and well established in her role within the tribe.

"Are you worried? The Skyspear knows best, I'm sure she'll find you a more than suitable mate." She tries to picture who would be Zuala's husband but each one makes the crevice in the middle of her forehead deeper.

"It's not that," Zuala pulls her knees in tighter. "I don't want to give this up..." She looks around, eventually settling her eyes on Yasha. Zuala takes her hands gently and Yasha squeezes in response.

"Why would you have to give any of this up?" Yasha asks, puzzled. "It's not as if your mate would take away your freedom. And if he tries, the Skyspear will deal with him." Zuala heaves a frustrated sigh and lets go of Yasha. Her hands tighten into fists.

"Nevermind," she snaps, standing so suddenly it startles Yasha. "We'd better get going. Dorev wanted you back before the afternoon."

"Zuala, what...?" Yashas scrambles to her feet and chases after her but the hunter deftly climbs the slick rock surface back to where her clothes lay. Yasha struggles to follow, and it takes several false starts and a few falls into the pool before she manages to pull herself into the cave just in time to see Zuala leave through the entrance. She yells after her again, but Zuala marches on. Yasha doesn't catch up to her until they're in the village.

"Zuala!" She calls.

"There you are, Orphan Maker" Zhuye strides in front of her. "You know, that's the second time this week you've sent my husband to me in need of healing." Yasha watches Zuala disappear into one of the hunters' huts and her heart drops.

"What?" she turns her attention to the tribe healer.

"I'm saying," Zhuye repeats, "that you've sent my husband to me more often this week than I've seen you. I'm starting to miss that face of yours." She winks but sees the dejected look on Yasha's face. "Is everything alright?"

"No," Yasha laments. "I think I said something to make Zuala mad at me."

"You've never been good with words," Zhuye sighs, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "But you and Zuala are too good of friends to let a misunderstanding drive a wedge between you. Give her a few hours, I'm sure she'll be fine. Do you know what you said?" Yasha flails her arm exasperatedly.

"No! We were just talking about the plans the Skyspear had for us and..."

"Ah!" Zhuye cuts in. "The Skyspear was looking for you. She said she had important matters to discuss." Yasha glances over her shoulder, hoping that Zuala would come out again, shoot her a smile, and let her know everything was fine. But no one left the hut.

"I'll see her right away."

* * *

The Skyspear was in her conference chambers when Yasha entered, flanked on either side by her warriors. Menacing as the two women were, Yasha had grown considerably in the last couple of years, and now their heads barely reached her shoulders and she made them look like dwarves in comparison.

"You asked for me?" Yasha says quietly as the Skyspear looks up from her book.

"Orphan Maker," the Skyspear smiles, closing her book and waving her two guards away. "Come in." Yasha watches the two warriors disappear. "I saw what you did to Dorev. Few people in this village can best him, even in training." Slight color creeps along Yasha's cheeks and she stares at the desk sheepishly.

"I suppose I have been improving," she admits.

"Suppose?" The Skyspear clasps her hands on either side of Yasha's broad shoulders. "I look at you, look at the warrior you've become, and I know that I made the right choice taking you in that day so many years ago." Her chest swells with pride looking up at Yasha. "Your training is complete, I decree it so."

"Matron..." Yasha falls to her knees. Her hands shake in excitement and she folds them against her side to hide it.

"From today on, you will be a fullfledged warrior of the Dolorav tribe. Guards!" The two march in again. "Take the Orphan Maker to get her warrior tattoo."

"Yes, Skyspear," they say in unison as Yasha gets to her feet.

"Thank you Skyspear, thank you!" She manages. The Skyspear nods sagely.

"May you bring glory to the Dolorav tribe, Orphan Maker."

* * *

Hours later, Yasha emerges from the village elders' house, wincing slightly at the bright sun and the new dark blue tattoo running from her lip down to her chin. She brought her hand up instinctively to touch it but immediately thinks better. She runs to the nearest reflective object, a shield propped up on the side of a residence and looks at her new marking - the marking of a true Dolorav warrior. Joy springs to her throat and she lets out a small chirp of excitement.

"That's a sound I've never heard," a familiar voice remarks smartly behind her. She whips around and sees Zuala's eyes widen when she sees the tattoo. "Oh, Yasha!"

"The Skyspear told me I'm a true warrior now!" Yasha exclaims, half running, half skipping over to her friend.

"Yasha, I...I'm so happy for you!" She flings her arms around the barbarian, and in return, Yasha hugs her around the waist tightly. They linger in the embrace and Yasha remembers their fight earlier this morning. She savors the feel of Zuala's solid arms around her neck, the smell of her freshly washed hair pressed into her face, the warmth of her chest against hers. If there was a feeling to top getting her warrior's tattoo, it would be this.

"Zuala, are you still mad at me?" she asks as they pull apart finally.

"No, I...I was never mad," Zuala replies. "I was afraid, Yasha."

"Why?"

"So many things," she averts her gaze. Her hands rest easily on Yasha's shoulders. "I'm afraid of things changing, Skyspear or not. But, I suppose change is a part of life."

"Sometimes change can be good," Yasha retorts, pointing to her chin. When Zuala smiles at her, every muscle in her body feels lifted, like she could take to the air with the lightness in her.

"Yes, I guess you're right." Zuala's hands cup her face, her thumb runs across Yasha's lips, brushing near her tattoo as she watches for Yasha's expression. "Yasha, I..."

"What?" Her heart leaps into her throat and she endeavors to figure out why. Zuala stands on the tips of her toes and kisses her forehead, then her cheeks. She pulls away just enough that her lips no longer touch Yasha's skin and the two hold their breaths. Yasha's eyes flit down to Zuala's lips, soft, untattooed, and glowing gently in the afternoon sunlight.

"Zuala!" A voice calls out from a distance. Zuala practically jumps away from Yasha.

"I have to go," she stammers. "I'll see you later?"

"Y-yes," Yasha replies, equally flustered. Zuala waves at her awkwardly before breaking into a sprint towards the voice, leaving Yasha alone, bewildered by the hammering heartbeat in her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Yasha lies awake for an hour after she usually falls asleep. She tosses and turns both in bed and her mind. Over and over again, Zuala's expression reads like something Yasha knows but doesn't quite understand. She reaches for the ceiling above her as if the answer was right there within grasping distance. She looks out her window at the just visible moon, willing it to rise faster so it can set faster so that she could find Zuala the next morning and talk with her until she could figure out the feeling welling uncomfortably in her chest.

Zuala's kissed her before; chaste kisses on her cheek when Yasha downed a particularly big doe, a rarity in the marshes. A kiss when she brought an arm full of flowers for her on her birthday. Kisses often, brief...

Not often enough, not long enough.

Yasha sits up straight in bed with that realization and immediately covers her face. Her body flushes from her toes to what felt like the roots of her hair. She'd hear some of the other trainees express sexual attraction, but it was like a distant buzzing she actively ignored while she trained so hard. Besides, tribe law forbade it, and it always felt like a waste of time to dream about a romance that would seldom happen. But officially becoming a warrior cleared her mind. She no longer has to worry about waking up before the rest of the village or her next trial. She has a sense of freedom she'd never felt before. She had the space to want for the first time in her life, and she knows with certainty that she wants Zuala.

There's a sense of urgency within her now, and she quietly steals out of bed, careful not to wake her hut-mate. She accidentally knocks a boot down, stirring her for a second. She freezes in place and waits, breathing only the shallowest, quietest breaths she can manage until her hut-mate snores and rolls over. She continues out the door.

She doesn't have to worry too much about guards patrolling. The majority of the guards hang around the outskirts, posted at the entrances. She makes her way quickly to the opposite side of the village where the hunters stayed. She knows how to get to Zuala's hut blindfolded, but her heart still pounds with uncertainty when she gets there. She walks four steps along the side of the from the marker they created, denoting where Zuala slept. As she'd done countless times over past years, she gently taps against the wood where she knew Zuala could hear. Tap...taptap...tap. She waits for a second and repeats the tapping and waits again for the response. When the usual amount of time passes, and she hears nothing, she taps the sequence over with the same result. Worry chills her, and she steals over to the window, hoping that she could make out in the dark Zuala's sleeping figure. Her bed looks empty, rumpled as if she'd just recently slept in it. She sits down against, trying to figure out where Zuala had gone in the night.

Worst-case scenarios start creeping their way into her mind. She didn't know Zuala to be one to sneak out without her. Unprovoked, the thought of Zuala having a secret rendezvous with someone else makes the edges of her vision redden, not unlike the feeling when she rages. When the idea takes hold, and her imagination paints a more vivid picture, the initial anger fades into a dull ache in her chest. Maybe she had mistaken Zuala's affection for more than it was.

Soft footsteps jolt her out of her head, and she looks up right at a familiar silhouette in the cascading moonlight.

"Yasha?"

"Hi!" Yasha scrambles to her feet. "I was, uh, just,"

"I was looking for you!" Zuala cuts in with some relief in her voice. All of Yasha's worries fall away when she hears that.

"I was too," she sighs quietly. With Zuala in front of her now, she feels renewed sheepishness, and her eyes repeatedly dart to Zuala's lips. They stand silently in the dark, breaths silvery in the chilly air. Yasha wants to burst out with her feelings but seeing her makes her throat close. Zuala steps forward and grabs Yasha's hand.

"Come on, let's go," she whispers with a smile, and the two dash off into the trees.

Yasha's used to being able to control her breathing, her heart rate. She spent so much of her training being able to rein in her rage, unleashing it when needed, and keeping it controlled when not. But as they make their way to their hidden meetup, all that practice goes out the door.

They're barely able to find the entrance in the dark, but Zuala's experience as an expert tracker wins out in the end. They squeeze through as they did earlier that day, and Yasha barely gets to her feet when Zuala grabs either side of her face and pulls her into a real kiss. Blood hammers in Yasha's ears, and for a second, the kiss paralyzes her. It's not until Zuala breaks away, her eyes searching Yasha's in the dark for any sign of reciprocation, that she pulls Zuala close and returns it. This kiss is frantic, almost feral. Zuala's teeth knock into her lip hard enough that it almost breaks skin, but all it does is fuel Yasha's need for her. Her hand instinctively seek hold in the small of Zuala's back, and she wants to pick her up and pull her entire body flush against her own, but her knees feel like they're shaking with excitement, and she is uncertain whether she could hold herself up, much less the two of them.

They eventually break apart, gasping for air, desperate for more. Zuala runs her fingers through Yasha's hair, brushing it behind her back. Yasha doesn't let go of Zuala, wanting to stay there for as long as they could.

"I didn't think you felt the same way, but I needed to be sure," Zuala whispers with caution like someone was just on the other side of the wall listening. "And I was willing to take whatever risk necessary."

"I didn't...I didn't really know how I felt until I went looking for you," Yasha responds. "I just knew I wanted you. Want you." She can't tell for sure, but she swears Zuala's face flushes an even darker crimson. It seems to take forever, but the high of their confession and the adrenaline from their kiss wears off. The consequences of their actions and feelings bubble to the surface.

"What do we do?" Zuala asks, bringing words to their unspoken fear.

"Maybe we can talk to the Skyspear, convince her to let us be mates," Yasha offers hopefully, but the look in Zuala's eyes show little hope that their wish might come to fruition. They both knew the entire purpose of mate selection was to create offspring so that the tribe would thrive. The Skyspear and the elders looked closely at what matches would bring the strongest warriors or the most cunning hunters. There was no such pairing that did not serve some practical use.

"I want you, Yasha, I don't care what it takes."

"Well," Yasha presses her forehead against Zuala's. "you have me."

* * *

Light doesn't touch them in the cave. They slumber peacefully in each other's arms until Yasha starts awake, pulling Zuala with her.

"What time is it?" She whispers frantically. Realizing that they'd dozed off, the two of them scramble back into the light. The sun rises high for mid-morning, like a beacon shining on their illicit escapades. They race back to their village, only dropping each other's hands when they can hear the tribe's everyday activities.

"How do I look?" Yasha whispers as they hide right before attempting to mingle. Zuala presses a quick kiss to her lips.

"Beautiful as always," she replies, and Yasha blushes.

"We'd better get back before anyone notices. If they haven't already." Zuala smoothes Yasha's hair one last time before they sneak in.

"Where were you?" Dorev catches them immediately. Yasha freezes in place, opening her mouth to find some excuse, but only panicked breathes left her throat.

"We were night hunting, and we got lost," Zuala cuts in before Yasha can say the wrong thing.

"Night hunting?" Dorev raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "Where's your bow?"

"I-uh, I left it,"

"She lost it," Yasha interjects with a frantic look to Zuala as the two try and coordinate their story.

"Y-yes! I left it in the woods because I couldn't find it."

"You...lost your bow..." Dorev says slowly, trying to digest their story.

"We were hunting a boar," Zuala continues. "I heard it in bed last night, and you know how it's been—scarce game around here and all. I thought a boar would be a boon for the tribe. And Yasha heard me as I was running."

"Yes, you know me, sharp sense," Yasha smiles weakly.

"A-anyway, we found it, and it charged me, and when I was trying to get away, I dropped my bow,"

"And quiver!"

"Yes, and as we were running away, we got lost in the dark, so we just stayed out until light." Zuala glances at Yasha at their fake conclusion, breathing a sigh that they'd managed to develop some semblance of a story. It was just up to Dorev whether he believed it or not. The instructor looks from Yasha to Zuala with his eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Yasha can feel prickles of unease crawl up her back. He sucks in air and shakes his head.

"Be more careful next time," he warns. "Your hunting party was looking for you. Perhaps you can have them help you bring in your lost quarry." Zuala nods, and with a meaningful look at Yasha, runs off. Yasha averts her gaze to prevent a blush from giving away their secret.

"And you should be careful as well." Any trace of red on her face drains, and she unsteadily looks at her former instructor.

"Be careful of what?" She swears Dorev can see her heart racing in her throat. Dorev studies her for what seems like minutes.

"You are not a hunter; you are a warrior. It is not your obligation to go with her whenever she hears a twig snap in the swamp," he said carefully. "You'd do well to remember how precarious a position you take within our tribe."

"Yes, Dorev." 

"Go spar with the others." Head hanging in shame and fear that Dorev knew, Yasha hurries off without another word. 

Sparring with the tribe's actual warriors proves much more demanding than with any of the trainees. They use real weapons, for one, and Yasha's not used to her greatsword's weight. It's not long before Yasha's bleeding from several gashes on her arm. Her partner takes one disgusted look at her before calling the session, and Yasha limps away to Zhuye's tent.

"Ohoho, look at you," Zhuye remarks, her eyes scanning the tattoo on Yasha's chin. "A real warrior."

"Real wounds too." Yasha gestures to all the blood.

"Nothing I can't fix," the healer replies with a wink. "Congratulations, I heard from my husband last night."

"I bet he's displeased that he doesn't have me to beat up anymore." The comment earns a well-deserved smack.

"For all the grief he gives you, he's fond of you." Zhuye places a hand on Yasha's shoulder, and a familiar warmth emanates from her touch, cascading down through her injuries and filling her with a pleasant, tingling sensation.

"I find that hard to believe."

"So does he," she laughs. Yasha sits quietly in contemplation while the healer works the rest of her body. She wonders how the two of them never had children. The thought of Dorev in bed makes her shudder.

"Zhuye," she beings, trying to be careful. "I thought...I..."

"Spit it out."

"Are you happy with Dorev?" She blurts at once. Zhuye is so surprised that she stops her healing for a second.

"Happy? Of course I'm happy."

"I thought the purpose of the Skyspear assigning you a mate was so that you could create the tribe's next generation." The healer quiets as she works, and Yasha worries that she's somehow offended her. Eventually, she speaks in a low, trembled tone.

"I'm barren." Yasha audibly gasps, which, somehow, Zhuye finds funny. She smiles a sad, weathered smile. "Dorev and I tried, but every time I thought I'd have a child, I'd lose it." The weight of her words sinks on Yasha's shoulders, and she regrets asking.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing you or I can do about it, so there's nothing to be sorry about." She pats Yasha on the back, a gentle push to get off the table now that she's finished treatment. "But to answer your question, I am happy. Dorev doesn't hold it against me that I cannot bear him children. He loves me in his own quiet, understanding way. I could not have asked for a better match." The word "match" makes Yasha's heart sink even further.

"Have you ever wished you could make your own match?" Yashas asks. Zhuye stares at her with confusion, like she's never heard of, or would never consider that idea.

"No," she replies, "why would I ever go against the Skyspear's wishes?"

* * *

Yasha doesn't get a chance to see Zuala the rest of the day. Dorev keeps her busy, and, she suspects, purposefully away from the hunters. He sends her on an investigation a few miles out of town, where some of the tribe scouts had reported seeing a massive fire. Dorev instructs her to find out if the fire is from a roving band of adventurers or, worst case, a rival war tribe. She had initially protested her solo deployment, but Dorev shot her a stern look.

"It's an investigation mission, Orphan Maker; one warrior should suffice," he had snapped.

Thinking back on it makes her angrier. She wanted to argue for bringing an expert tracker, selfishly she thought of Zuala, but she tried to reason that any hunter would have been fine. But Dorev had sent her away without another word.

It's almost dark when she smells smoke. She pushes her way through the thick swamp foliage and peers into the small clearing where a recently extinguished fire steams. She calms her breathing and looks around. There didn't seem to be any signs of whoever made the fire, though she could see footprints in the mud nearby. She waits, heart racing. An hour passes, then two, and it is finally too dark for her to see. By now, the fire had gone cold, and she suspects that whoever had set it up has long gone.

With a sigh of relief, she enters the clearing and rekindles the fire for her own use. It is far too dark for her to make it back to the tribe without getting lost. She'd camp here for the night, just to be safe, and leave bright and early. The fire eagerly roars back to life, and she settles in its warmth, keeping her greatsword close. She doesn't realize she's dozing until a snap of branches awakens her with a start. She grips the hilt of her greatsword and backs up against a tree. Her heart races. Had they returned? She couldn't shake the feeling that she is being watched intently. A figure steps into the dim light, and Yasha charges.

"Yasha, it's me!" She's barely able to stop herself when she meets Zuala's gaze.

"Zuala!" She lowers her sword. Anger boils in her blood. "Fuck! I could've really hurt you!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you until, well, you were this close," Zuala responds sheepishly. Relief follows, and Yasha drops her sword to embrace her.

"I missed you, it's only been a day, but I missed you," she sighs into her shoulder. They pull apart, and Zuala kisses Yasha gently.

"I can't believe Dorev sent you here by yourself," she says crossly. Yasha shrugs.

"As long as you're with me now. But you shouldn't be. What if someone catches you?" Her concern is half-hearted. She couldn't be happier that Zuala was with her, but it requires voicing anyway.

"I'll return before anyone knows." The two of them settle down, and Yasha throws another log on the fire, daring to make it a little bigger now that she had a second set of eyes and ears. They hold each other close, watching the flame flicker and dance.

"So why did Dorev send you out here?" 

"Investigation," Yasha replies. "Someone was here, and he wanted to see if they were maybe enemies or just wanderers." Zuala looks around the campsite, taking in as much of it as she could. She giggles.

"I want to be there when you tell him you probably stumbled on someone's tryst." Yasha turns bright red.

"What?"

"Look at the way the indentation is here." Zuala points to a depression in the soft dirt. "A hand on either side, here, and here." She continues to show Yasha something that the warrior has a hard time picturing. She can only look at Zuala helplessly. The brunette laughs.

"Oh, you are innocent," she says, kissing Yasha. She puts a hand on Yasha's sternum and pushes her down to the ground gently. She places a hand on either side of her and brings her face close.

"Like this," Zuala whispers. Yasha feels like she's on fire.

The kiss is different this time. There's a deeper hunger there that Yasha's not entirely sure how to fulfill except by pulling her closer. Zuala's hands find the soft cloth under Yasha's chest piece and tugs at it gently until the neatly tucked shirt is no longer so neatly tucked.

"Hm?" Yasha breaks the kiss to try and glimpse Zuala's wandering hand, but Zuala shushes her with a kiss that trails down to a collarbone. Its effect is enough to silence Yasha and send all her nerves on edge in a way she had no words to describe. Zuala curls over Yasha in one smooth motion, her legs trapping the barbarian underneath her. Her lips work a soft trail downward, and her fingers fumble with the intricate lacings that even Yasha has issues with when disrobing at night.

"Here." Yasha sits up as much as she could with Zuala straddling her waist. Her hands shake so much, though, that they only succeed in tightening the knots, and she curses low in her throat. "Just, hand me the knife." Zuala hands her the small skinning knife she always had, and Yasha cuts the first knot away with fervor. Luckily, the next few were much easier to deal with, and soon she shrugs the heavy leather off to the side. The crisp air hits the dampened cloth shirt, and she shivers. Zuala watches her light breathing with anticipation.

"You ok?" She asks, searching Yasha's eyes.

"I, um, yeah."

"We can stop."

"No!" Yasha doesn't want to stop, ever. Whatever lies at the end of this, she wants to be there with Zuala. 

"Ok, good," Zuala flashes her a mischievous smile. "Because I want you to make that sound again."

"What sou-" A short, hitching, strangled gasp rises from her throat when Zuala nibbles lightly on the exposed skin where the top button to her shirt had come undone. Instinctively, she brings her hands up under Zuala's shirt and runs her fingers along her hips to her ribs. This time, Zuala makes a noise that makes Yasha condense all her life goals into one singularly focused task - do whatever  _ that  _ was, again.

"Damn it, Yasha," she hisses against her skin.

"What's wrong?"

"You," she replies with a soft bite to punctuate it. "I'm trying to get the upper hand on you for once, and you're still..." She sucks in a sharp breath. Yasha cocks an eyebrow with amusement.

"Upper hand?" She runs her hands along Zuala's skin again, and Zuala lashes out, grabbing her by the wrists and forcing her hands to the ground.

"Don't think I don't have tricks of my own, I know you, Yasha," she warns.

"I'm sure you do," Yasha murmurs as Zuala tentatively releases her. She pops open a few more buttons, always keeping a wary eye on Yasha's hands to make sure they don't move. She kisses a trail down her sternum, then across her right ribcage, and up.

The first of many stars explode behind Yasha's sky as Zuala's lips find sensitive skin.

"Holy..." She surges up.

"Too much?" Zuala looks at her with worry. Yasha struggles for breath, trying to process the intensity behind the physical sensations.

"I've never..." she trails off, too embarrassed to say it.

"I'd be concerned if you did."

"Stop teasing me," Yasha mumbles. Zuala kisses her hard. When it ends, she cradles Yasha's face in her hands.

"I love you, Yasha." Warmth spreads through Yasha's body, and she can feel tears welling up in her eyes.  _ Love... _ she turns the word over and over in her head. It is so foreign to her, yet it feels like the comfort of a warm hearth and soft covers. It feels like home to her.

"I love you too," she manages to reply—her voice trembles. Zuala's hands continue along her well-toned stomach, then further down until her fingertips run the edge of her waist.

"Do you trust me?" she asks, dipping below the waistline. Yasha knows, not from experience, but from instinct, that they hover on the brink of breaking one of the core Dolorav laws. She knows if she doesn’t stop Zuala now, they could never go back. But it's impossible to stop a boulder tumbling from the top of the mountain, or an arrow released from a bow. And it's impossible to stop this too. Zuala's hand dips precariously lower.

"Yes, I trust you," Yasha whispers, and Zuala ignites her whole body with unrelenting flame.


	5. Chapter 5

Yasha feels Zuala get up far earlier than she wants her to. She grabs the hunter's arm and pulls her down again.

"Don't go," she mumbles into her hair. She can feel Zuala smiling against her neck.

"I have to, love," Zuala replies with a soft kiss against her skin.

"Say that again," Yasha pleads. She thinks she'll never tire of it. Zuala pulls out of her grasp, and in its place, the chill late-night air fills the gap.

"I love you, as silly as you're being." Zuala strokes Yasha's hair. "But this is all over if we get caught, you know." The barbarian sighs and nods. "I'll see you at home."

"You are my home." Zuala's laugh cuts through the dark.

"You're incorrigible."

"No, I'm yours." Yasha reaches out and runs her fingers along Zuala's exposed thigh, and the hunter shivers at her touch. A mischievous smile creeps across Yasha's face, and she touches small bruises where her fingers had left them just hours ago. "I can leave a few more if you'd like." Zuala slaps her hand away in mock anger.

"Don't tempt me," she huffs as she finishes dressing. "I'll see you later." She kisses Yasha - a slow, lingering, yearning kiss that leaves Yasha wanting more. She watches Zuala disappear in the brush, stoking the fire with another log to compensate for the loss of warmth at her side.

In the quiet dark, she has time to reflect on the actions. The thought of Zuala trembling under her brings new heat to her stomach, but it's quickly damned by the immense repercussions. They'd just broken one of the core Dolorav laws. She remembers word for word the oath she'd taken so many years ago:

_And I swear I will not stray before a mate is chosen for me, for it is the will of the Skyspear. I give my body for the present and future of the Dolorav..._

She knows all too well the penalty for breaking any of the core tenants. Her mind, with a chill despite the raging flame a few inches from her, flashes to the last time a young couple had been caught breaking the very same laws she and Zuala did. She had been so young then, so naive to think that it would never happen to her. She recalls their tear-stained faces, begging for mercy, begging for their lives, the sound of steel scraping against stone, and the deafening silence a few seconds later. She'd thought back then, how stupid they were, how all they needed to do was simply keep their emotions in check.

Oh, how times change.

She runs through any scenario in her head where she and Zuala might end up together _and_ stay within the Dolorav tribe. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying desperately to imagine a happy ending where they might all live together, happy and in love. But when she opens her eyes again, the sobering darkness brings with it the reality that there would likely not be a happy ending, at least not one without leaving everything she knew.

"Fuck me," she whispers, drawing her knees closer. Bitterness fills her mouth, contempt for these archaic laws that commanded their lives from birth. She refocuses her attention and thinks instead of Zuala. Of her bright smile, and the small wrinkles at the edges of her eyes, of the sharpness in her laugh, of a seemingly impossible future with her. The thought keeps her warm until morning.

* * *

As soon as it's light enough, Yasha makes the trip back to the tribe. Daydreaming about Zuala puts her in a jovial mood, and she finds a little spring in her step as she treks. About halfway back, she spots a tiny pond she hadn't seen on her way there. Small lilies dot the top of the water, bright pink against the murky water. Not thinking twice, she hops over to the pond and leans close, plucking the largest one she could find. _For Zuala_ , she thinks with a smile, imagining Zuala's face as she presents her with the flower.

She finds Dorev in the training circle when she gets back. He's busy yelling at some poor new recruit, a girl more limbs than torso, cowering near one of the walls. She clears her throat to get his attention, and the relief on the girl's face makes Yasha grin. She knows that feeling all too well.

"Orphan Maker, welcome back," Dorev says, setting his weapon down. "What did you find?"

"Nothing to report, sir," she replies. "Probably just passing adventurers."

"'Probably?'" Dorev sneers. "I hope you're more certain than just a guess." Yasha blushes, thinking of the imprints in the dirt that Zuala had pointed out to her, and the conclusion she drew from them.

"Ahem, the tracks suggest that it was two people. Uh, likely, lovers." Her face heats up as the word brings to mind the soft moans that escaped from Zuala's mouth last night. Dorev waves his hand dismissively, but Yasha could see a slight tinge of red at the edge of his ears. The girl giggles to herself in the corner.

"Fine, fine," he turns away. "Good work. Now go get yourself cleaned up by the river, you smell like an uncleaned pig pen."

She's glad to bath after what seems like a long time without it. The campfire smell is pleasant, but the rest of the swampy murk leaves a distinct sour odor in her nose. She's just soaping up her arms when hands sneak around her waist.

"Gotcha," Zuala whispers teasingly into her ear. Yasha whirls on her, pulling her into the water.

"No," Yasha corrects, "I've got you." Desire swells in her chest when she notices how very little Zuala wore, and she leans in and kisses her hard.

"Yasha!" Zuala scolds.

"There's no one around," Yasha replies.

"Still," the young hunter cautions. Yasha sighs, and then perks up, remembering the flower. She swims over to her discarded clothes and grabs the water lily.

"For you," she says, presenting it. Zuala takes it with glee, carefully looking around before kissing her on the lips.

"Thank you, it's beautiful."

"A beautiful flower for a beautiful hunter." Zuala playfully splashes water at her.

"When did you get such a silver tongue?" She laughs. Yasha pulls her close again, fingers running the length of Zuala's thigh.

"I can do so much with my tongue, you know," she promises, feeling Zuala shudder against her.

"Gods," Zuala whispers, "the things you do to me."

"The things I plan to do to you," Yasha corrects. Nearby, a branch snaps, and Zuala, in a panic, ducks under the water. The girl, the one from the training circle, enters Yasha's view.

"Miss Orphan Maker," she says, "Dorev says he has a new assignment for you, and to hurry up." Yasha nods, the only she can do. Zuala's fingers had found some choice sensitive areas between her legs, and any sort of words she could've said would have come out garbled. The girl shoots her a strange look before hurrying off. As soon as she's out of sight, Yasha grabs both of Zuala's arms and pulls her up.

"I'll get you back for that, I thought you were the one worried about someone finding us," she growls. Zuala, undeterred, and with renewed confidence, presses herself closer.

"Shh," she hushes, "let me take care of you for a bit."

* * *

Life as a warrior proves not too much different than that of a trainee. The weapons are real, though, and so are the wounds. She quickly learns the balance of her greatsword, becoming as effective with it as any of her training weapons. If she wasn't training, she was going on various scouting missions with some of the other warriors. Sometimes they'd encounter hostile fauna, the occasional bandit party, but neither would last long.

It is the nights that Yasha waits for. In the night, she and Zuala would steal away from the prying eyes and harsh laws of the tribe. They'd wander the swamp with no real destination in mind, satisfied with just each other's company. She memorizes Zuala's bodies on these nights, and in turn, lets Zuala see her at her most vulnerable. Days go on like this, and Yasha dares to dream that this could be her life. 

"Orphan Maker." The voice calling her out of slumber sounds annoyed and impatient. She opens her eyes against the bright sun streaming through the window. "Orphan Maker." One of the Skyspear's guards stands at the foot of her bed, looking cross.

"What time is it?" She grumbles as she sits up. Her hutmate's bed looked long cold, and she realizes with a jolt that she'd overslept.

"The Skyspear wishes to speak with you."

"Yes, of course." She slides out of bed, and her eyes catch the fingerprint bruises along her thigh left some nights ago. She quickly hides them with a sheet. "I'll get dressed and head over there immediately." The guard thankfully nods and leaves her.

She's not a few paces from the Skyspear's hut when someone dashes out of it, nearly knocking her to the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry." They recognize each other at the same time, and Yasha finds herself gazing into Zuala's face. There are tears in her eyes, at first barely perceptible, but as soon as they meet Yasha's, the tears spill over.

"Zuala, what..."

"Orphan Maker, come in," the Skyspear beckons. Zuala shoves herself away from Yasha, leaving her with a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She gently pushes her way through the half-opened door into the large room. The Skyspear sits at her table, documents strewn across it as usual. She catches a glimpse of one paper, and Zuala's name jumps out at her as if they'd been glowing against the parchment.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Yasha tears her eyes from the paper, trying not to look too interested as the Skyspear walks towards her. She regards the Skyspear's face, weathered from years of leading their tribe. Her dark, charcoal eyes shine bright with intelligence.

"Orphan Maker," her warm smile spreads across her face. She holds out her hand and runs it gently over the healed tattoo on her chin. "I've heard of your prowess in combat from Dorev. This is everything I wanted for you from the moment I saw you, Orphan Maker. You bring pride and honor to our tribe."

"Thank you, matron,"

"As you've probably heard, the cold months are soon upon us, and we've not enough food to weather the season. I'm afraid we've depleted much of our surrounding resources. I want you to lead an expedition to more promising lands. Take a dozen of the hunters and a few warriors and make the trek north. Return with food to last us." At the mention of hunters, Yasha can't help herself, her eyes flit to the stack of papers. The Skyspear follows her gaze, and she chuckles to herself when she notices.

"I see you've taken an interest." Yasha immediately flushes and steps away.

"No, Skyspear, I..."

"It's quite alright, Orphan Maker. At your age, it's expected. Worry not. I've been watching you closely. You are close with Zuala, yes?" She beams, and the lightness returns to Yasha's chest, and her heart feels like it's reaching, wishing desperately to hear the words. 

"Yes, Skyspear, we are close."

"I think you'll be happy then, as she is with the arrangement I've set." Yasha breaks into an uncontrolled smile. "Worry not, I will find you a suitable mate, just as I've found one for Zuala."

Like it had been struck by lightning out of the sky, her hope plummets and shatters into pieces on the floor.

* * *

She tears through the village, searching over the heads of the other tribeswomen and men, looking for the familiar mess of brown curls. Her blood thunders in her head. People clear her path, seeing the frenzied look in her eyes. She sees Zuala near the hunter's hut, stringing her bow for an outing.

"Zuala!" She shouts, not caring that everyone in earshot turned to face her. Zuala looks up, startled, and then panicked. Yasha sprints to her side.

"What are you doing here?" Zuala hisses.

"It's not true, tell me it's not true," Yasha pleads. The corners of Zuala's eyes turn down, and her lip trembles. She breaks eye contact and looks away. Yasha grabs her arm and shakes her. "Zuala, please." She knows she sounds pathetic.

"Not here," Zuala whispers. 

"Is everything alright?" The master of the hunt exits the hut, staring at Yasha with suspicion.

"Everything is fine," Zuala cuts in, tearing her arm away.

"Ah, Orphan Maker, have you come to congratulate Zuala on her match? Thogrin's a fine young man, there couldn't have been a finer pairing." The corners of her vision turn red. She knew the young man he meant. She'd seen him talking with Zuala every so often. It was never in-depth. She'd caught mostly bits and pieces of the information about quarry shared. Small, barely perceptible tendrils of darkness curl from her shoulders. Zuala notices immediately and stands up.

"Yasha, _please_." The desperation in her voice brings Yasha back. She gazes down at her love, her shoulders tense in fear that mirrored in her eyes. Yasha steps back as shame fills her throat, threatening to choke her. "Yes, the Orphan Maker was just coming by to offer kind words," Zuala says a louder.

"Well, don't take too long," the master of the hunt says. "We've bellies to fill."

"Meet me at the cave tonight," Zuala whispers. A part of Yasha yearns for a reassuring kiss, but none comes. Zuala squeezes her hand before nodding in a way that could only mean for Yasha to leave. Yasha numbly pulls her hand out of Zuala's and makes the trek back to the training area.

She spars until her lungs and limbs give out, desperate to think of nothing but the need for oxygen. If she has a free thought, it's of Zuala's match, and that threatens to bring tears to her eyes. She'd rather die a death by a thousand cuts than have anyone see her cry. Eventually, Dorev, of all people, steps in to stop her.

"Get out of here, Orphan Maker," he commands.

"One more," she pants, using her greatsword to prop herself up, eying the crowd for another fight.

"Look at you, you can barely pick that thing up," he sneers. "You're useless right now, go see the healer." She instead goes back to her bed. She drops the greatsword at the side of her bed and curls up, not caring that her open wounds stain the sheets, or that every muscle in her body screams. She draws her knees into her chest and quietly sobs against the wall.

* * *

She wakes to her hutmate snoring and realizes how late the night has gotten. The moon is already high in the sky, and she scrambles out of bed, suppressing a groan of pain as her injuries from overexerting herself settle in. She hurries out of the village, not bothering to check to see if anyone was following her. She knows the route to their cave by heart as she blindly runs through the brush.

Zuala's already there, sitting by the waterfall with her head between her drawn-up knees. When she hears footsteps, she looks up with red, puffy eyes.

"Yasha!" She exclaims, getting to her feet. They fall into each other's arms, shaking and holding each other as tears flood down their cheeks. They cry against each other's shoulders until they have nothing left. Yasha feels as though her body was empty, hollow, and she clung tightly to Zuala as if the hunter could fill her.

"Look at you," Zuala says touching the cuts along her arms from her intense sparring sessions. "Yasha."

"Zuala, tell me it isn't true. Tell me, tell me it's just a joke." Zuala kisses Yasha's hands, and then her cheeks.

"You and I both knew this would happen," she says, but her voice hitches in her throat. "Please, don't make this any harder than it is."

"Zuala, I love you. And I will only love you. Please don't go through with it," she begs.

"What choice do I have, Yasha?" Yasha's head spins. Anything but that. Anything but marrying Thogrin, and leaving her alone.

"Marry me." The words surprise even her. Zuala's stunned silence prompts her to continue with this crazy, impossible train of thought. "Marry me, Zuala, and we'll run away together, and just be together." Only the sound of rushing water fills the cavern. A few seconds later, bright laughter that melts Yasha's heart follows the silence. Zuala kisses her over and over.

"Yes, yes I will. I will marry you, Yasha." Her heart soars, and she picks Zuala up and spins her around with joy. When she sets her down, she can hardly contain her happiness. "When?"

"Tonight," Yasha urges breathlessly. "We'll get married tonight, and then tomorrow, we'll collect supplies and our belongings, and we'll run away somewhere."

"You're insane," Zuala laughs. "But, yes. Yes. But how?" Yasha ponders the question for a moment. She knew the rites of marriage within the Dolorav tribe required a certain bright blue jar, but the jugs were locked away in the elders' hut, only to be brought out when an official ceremony decreed. She broke into a grin when the thought crossed her mind.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

Yasha has never been quieter than when she sneaks into the elder's hut late that night. She can hear the various volumes of slumber from each bed. In the dark, her eyes seek out her quarry. Tucked away in the corner, covered by a woven blanket, she spots the bright blue paint signifying the jars she needed. She has no idea what it's used for, but every time a couple left to consummate their matching, they always took one with them.

She crawled on hands and knees, taking care not to make a single sound as she approached. The jars are so crammed together, that she takes minutes to gently, silently, pry one from the pile. Even then, the slight sound of clay sliding against clay makes one of the elders snort in her sleep and turn over. Yasha freezes in place, jar in midair. A bead of sweat trickles down her forehead as she holds her breath. Eventually, the one who stirred snores loudly again, and she lets out a quiet sigh. She crawls in reverse for what felt like an hour until she was free of the hut.

She races back to the cave where Zuala sat, stirring the water. She brightens instantly.

"You got one!" Zuala breathes, amazed.

"Yeah, I just have no idea, what they are." Zuala takes it from her and opens the top. Just inside, nearly filled to the brim, was a light red clay mixture of some sort. Yasha stares at it, then to Zuala with confusion. A playful smile spreads across Zuala's face, as she dips her hand into the mixture, then quickly smears it across Yasha's face.

"What...?" Yasha blinks in surprise. Zuala laughs again, and kisses her, placing her wet hand on Yasha's cheek.

"It's ceremonial clay," she explains. "Now, remove your clothes." Yasha grins up at her.

"Oh, is it that kind?" She teases. Zuala rolls her eyes, stripping the clothes from her body as well.

"No, the clay is part of a ritual." She dips her hand in again, and this time she brings it to Yasha's bare chest and paints a large portion of her chest. "We paint each other's bodies with it. It's supposed to mean, 'I've seen all of you, and I take you as you are.'" Yasha watches quietly as Zuala caresses her body, turning it a deep red. Her heartbeat quickens, and love fills her chest to the brim. She reaches down to collect a handful of the clay, and starts at Zuala's shoulders, gently running her fingers along her dark skin. She takes particular care with scars, leaning down to kiss them before she covered them. She runs her hand along the length of Zuala's back, along the smooth curve of her backside.

"You can't just paint one part of me, the point is the paint all of it," Zuala scolds.

"But these are my favorite parts," Yasha jokingly pouts, her hands now seeking the inside of Zuala's thighs.

"All of me, Yasha." Yasha grabs either side of Zuala's face and kisses her. She can taste the earthy, slightly salty mixture on Zuala's lips.

"All of you, Zuala," she promises, looking her in the eyes as she says the words. They continue to trace each other's bodies in silence, taking care to cover every inch of skin they could see, peppering the moment with tender kisses. Yasha's seen and felt Zuala's body before, but there's an intimacy in the ritual that robs her of breath. When they finish, they rest their foreheads against one another, smelling in the rich scent of clay.

"I love you, Yasha."

"I love you too, Zuala." It's everything Yasha wants. Happy tears spring to her eyes.

"So, should I take your last name then?" Zuala asks cheerily.

"I don't remember my last name," Yasha admits. "So unless you want to be called Zuala Maker..."

"I think I'll pass," Zuala giggles. "So my last name it is." Yasha nods enthusiastically, turning the full name over in her head.

"Yasha Nydoorin," she says aloud, and it feels right. It feels like security and solace she's not known for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

Yasha gently scoops water over Zuala's shoulders, cleaning the red clay from her back in soft sweeping motions. She brings her lips down to her skin and kisses.

"We should get married more often," Zuala murmurs, leaning back against Yasha.

"If you're talking about consummating our marriage more often, I think I can handle that, but the ritual itself I'd rather not. Clay does get everywhere," Yasha teases. Zuala reaches over her shoulder and runs her fingers through Yasha's silvery-white hair, where it had pooled, mingling with her own brown curls.

"I can't believe we're actually married," she wonders aloud.

"I can't wait to find a place for us. Let's find somewhere warm, where flowers bloom all year round." Zuala laughs and kisses her chin.

"Yes, oh, somewhere near water, I've never seen the ocean before, I'm dying to see that."

"Yes, flowers and water, and you." Yasha closes her eyes and imagines the life they would build there. She pictures Zuala's face when she wakes up first and the thought of gazing at her wife's sleeping visage in a bed all their own, with no training, or hunting, no need to hide. She envelops Zuala in her arms and holds her tightly against her chest, wanting to meld into one being so that her wife could feel the love she couldn't describe with just words.

"Yasha," Zuala laughs, splashing water at her.

"Just let me hold you for a bit longer before we have to go back."

"You'll have plenty of time to hold me when we leave." But Zuala leans into the embrace, pressing soft kisses into her arms. After a moment that goes by far too quickly, Yasha lets her go, and the two of them hurry out of the water.

"So we'll head back, I'll grab my gear, and you get yours, and if anyone asks, I don't know, we'll say we're going on a hunting mission or something."

"Very urgent," Zuala nods in agreement with a mock grave tone.

"Very," Yasha repeats before they drop the charade and burst into giggles. Yasha's head feels light like she's stood up too quickly. She takes Zuala's hand.

"Meet you back here?" Zuala asks.

"Yeah, you go first. I'll wait, so it doesn't look too suspicious."

"Alright, I'll see you soon." One more kiss and Zuala releases Yasha's hand and hurries up to the cave entrance. The barbarian watches her disappear, her every nerve straining to follow her immediately. But she takes a few deep breaths and waits. Good things, she thinks, are worth waiting for.

* * *

Zuala travels fast, so Yasha counts the minutes until fifteen passes, and she travels back at her own pace. It's morning, with the village just barely coming to life in the early hours. Silhouettes of people turn into detailed forms as the sun crests over the huts, basking her once home in honey-colored light. She takes in a chilly breath, faint touches of morning fires kindling in the breeze waft into her nose. The musk of the nearby swamp, the scent of dew on mossy rocks, the earthenware baking in a kiln, all of it overwhelms her thoughts. Has it always smelled like this, or now, when she stands on the brink of leaving it all, did it come into focus?

"Orphan Maker." No surprise that Dorev finds her standing in the middle of sluggishly moving tribesmen and women. "What are you doing?" She turns to regard him, and even he seems born anew in her eyes.

"Just...taking it all in," she admits vacantly.

"Well, the Skyspear wants to see you. Urgently." His eyes narrow, and his brow creates deep chasms in his forehead. Still riding the high from the night before, Yasha fights back the urge to smush her finger into his furrowed brow to smooth it out.

"Of course," she responds. "I'll see her at once." It's a lie Dorev swallows easily. He nods curtly at her and hurries off to, she presumes, where some hapless trainees no doubt wait for his arrival. She recalls, with the taste of bittersweetness, when she was so young and in his care.

"Goodbye, Dorev," she whispers and walks in the opposite direction of where the Skyspear expects her.

Her hut is thankfully empty when she arrives. She quickly gathers her satchel and fills it with a few pieces of dried food items. She straps her greatsword to her back, but not before admiring the delicate silver hilt emblazoned with the Skyspear's symbol. It curled elegantly along the hilt - a spear engraved on a sword. She whispered a silent apology to the Skyspear and a quick thanks for all she had done for her.

A few tribesmen notice her as she hurried away, but none give her more than a passing glance, perhaps tinted with a bit of curiosity. As quickly as they spot her, they turn back to whatever task they had at hand.

"Orphan Maker!" The huntmaster is the only snag she hits on her way out of the village. She comes up with a hundred excuses, each more implausible than the last, to explain her effects. "Have you seen Zuala?" She unconsciously breathes a sigh of relief.

"No, I haven't." Her voice is clear of deception, for she hadn't seen Zuala since she'd left the cave. The huntmaster grimaces and scratches the back of his head.

"Now, where has that girl gone off to?" He wonders. "Sorry to bother you, Orphan Maker."

"It's no problem," she answers, and before he can ask any other questions, jogs away with her heart pounding rapidly against her throat.

* * *

She doesn't realize she's hardly breathing the whole way to the cave until she sees the mess of brown curls just inside the entrance. Like she'd just sunk into a warm bath, her whole body relaxes, and she takes in air normally again.

"Yasha!" Zuala, equally relieved, flings herself into her arms.

"You got out ok?" Yasha asks, looking her over.

"Thogrin stopped me to talk, but I don't think he suspected anything." The barbarian's nostrils flare at the mention of her wife's former betrothed, but Zuala touches her cheek gently and brings her back. "I'm yours, beloved. Nothing can change that now."

"Yeah, yeah, ok," Yasha sighs. She looks around the cave with a sad fondness. "I'm going to miss it here. So many memories..." Zuala follows her gaze and nods.

"I was so scared back then," she says. "I'd had feelings for you for so long." She reaches for Yasha's hand. The florescent fungi on the walls pulse as if waving goodbye to them.

"You ready?" Yasha asks. Zuala kisses her.

"Yes, I'm ready." They squeeze out of the cave for the last time.

The first blow knocks the wind out of Yasha's lungs, and she doubles over. The second makes brilliant bursts of color swarm her vision. The third sweeps her feet and puts her supine on the ground. Hands hold her to the ground before she can react. The cold, light metal of a spear presses to her throat. She recognizes the insignia immediately, and it feels like someone had just thrust it down her throat, where it sat heavy and icy in the pit of her stomach.

"Orphan Maker, oh, dear child." She has heard that voice countless times to know who it is. When the multicolored dots finally subside from her eyes, she looks up into the unfeeling, unflinching gaze of the Skyspear.

"S-Skyspear!" She stutters.

"You should have come to me when I called. It would have made all of this," she gestures to the soldiers holding Yasha to the ground, "unnecessary." Yasha's head darts around in a panic, not caring that the metal bites into the soft skin at her throat and drew blood.

"Zuala?!" She yells.

"Yasha, I'm right here!" Her wife's voice sounds high-pitched and terrified.

"Yasha?" The Skyspear turns the name over in her mouth, like an unpleasant taste. "Oh, is that what she calls you?"

"Don't you dare hurt her," Yasha hisses. At this, the Skyspear wrests the spear from her soldier and presses it harder against her throat.

"Hurt her?!" The Skyspear shouts. "HURT HER?!" Her eyes shine wildly. "Orphan Maker, it was you who determined her fate. Do you really think that I," flecks of spittle foam at the corner of her mouth, "that I would not know what goes on behind my back? Do you think yourself so cunning as to avoid my notice?!" More blood starts to trickle from the open cut. Seeing the blood, the Skyspear hands the weapon back to her guard and straightens her silvery robe, smoothing out any evidence of her lack of composure.

"Orphan Maker, what do you think I did when one of the elders came to me late at night, telling me she had the strangest dream that a silver-haired barbarian snuck into her hut, stole one of the sacred urns, and disappeared into the night? What do you think I saw when I called upon the gods to find where that urn had gone?" The color drains from Yasha's face as she realizes that the Skyspear had seen them, had scried on them last night. She cranes her head to look at Zuala, desperate for comfort in her face. What she sees brings fresh tears to her eyes. Zuala, held by two members of the Skyspear's guard, cries silently, her eyes clouded over.

"Skyspear, please," Yasha turns back, begging.

"Please, what?" The Skyspear laughs hoarsely. "Spare you? Spare you from your certain death for breaking one of our laws? No, Orphan Maker, you chose that."

"Please, please, let us go. Let her go, and I swear fealty to you for the rest of my days!"

"Oh? And was your blood oath in jest then? Did that mean nothing?" The matron snarls, and Yasha shuts her mouth so hard her teeth knock together, and her ears rang. "Never, for one second, think that you are so special that we cannot be without you." She kneels next to Yasha's face, runs a finger along her jaw. "Oh, Orphan Maker, I had such hopes for you." She stands and turns, not even bothering to look at Zuala. The guards hoist Yasha to her feet and march her back to the tribe. She tries to cast another glance at her wife, but they keep her moving every time she turns her head.

A crowd had gathered to watch them. Faces, familiar, unfamiliar, at best concerned, at worst vindictive, pass through Yasha's vision unremembered save two. Dorev and Zhuye, barely visible in the sea of onlookers, stare in a mix of horror, disbelief, and, in Dorev's case, disappointment. Yasha averts her gaze, choosing instead to watch the dust kick up as they make their way through the center of the village.

"Members of the Dolorav tribe!" The Skyspear's voice cuts through the indistinct chatter. "Today is a grave day. Today, two of our sisters have broken one of our most sacred, and most stringent laws. Rather than believe in my wisdom and foresight in choosing their mates, they have instead chosen each other." The crowd lets out a cumulative gasp. "For this, we must hold them to their punishment." Yasha closes her eyes, and for the first time, she prays. Tears fall hot against her cheek as she begs the gods above to save them. But the roar rumbling through the crowd offers no mercy, and neither do the heavens. As the Skyspear announces their impending execution tonight, Yasha finally catches Zuala's eyes. In them holds multitudes of unspoken words, unrealized dreams. Zuala keeps her gaze, her dark eyes steely and set, and through them, Yasha finds her own strength.

_ "I love you,"  _ Zuala mouths. Yasha clenches her fist, her guards feel her muscles tense and hold tighter, but they cannot restrain the thought running through her mind.

_ I don't want to die _ . 

* * *

They lock her alone in a dark cell, far away from Zuala. She cries for a bit but eventually runs out of tears. Her mouth smacks of dryness, and she licks her salty lips to wet them. Hours pass. She can hear the goings-on of her tribe as if they weren't about to execute her. It is a typical day for them, and for Yasha, it is her last. After the tears stop, anger fills the void. The once beautiful wish - the sea, the flowers, a world where they could love endlessly and freely - now fuels her rage. It was unfair, all of it. She slams her fist into the stone wall until she paints a small block of it red with her blood. Dark tendrils curl at her shoulders, but in the darkness, she can't see them, only sense that a malevolent presence looms within her.

The anger takes longer to subside than the sadness, and with it any feeling at all. Numbness settles into her body like a storm coming to rest. She sits quietly, watching the blood on the wall dry at a faster rate than the blood still oozing from her raw knuckles. The light outside fades quickly, taking with it any warmth it wrought. She stands, gazing outside the small, barred window as torches flicker to life, and the unnatural waves of sound fill their village. Where there should have been quiet, drums start beating, voices carry through the night, filled with anticipation.

Dread.

It's the last emotion to make itself known to her. She peers out desperately, trying to see if she could glimpse Zuala, but her small window affords no such luxury. She rails against the bars, screaming Zuala's name until the door opens and she scrambles as far away from the door as possible. At first, it's impossible to make out the figure in the doorway until he steps into a small patch of distant torchlight. Yasha gets to her feet.

"Dorev," she hisses. Instinctively she drops into a ready stance. Even unarmed, she is sure she can do a little bit of damage, maybe even take him out long enough to escape. He hasn't brought anyone with him, he-

He tosses a satchel,  _ her _ satchel, at her. It hits the floor with a soft thud and skids until it barely touches her toe. Yasha looks from him to it, still prepared for him to surprise her. And he does, but not in the way she expects.

"Come on, Orphan Maker, let's go," he snaps.

"I don't...I don't understand."

"There will be time to understand later. You have to go. Now!" He casts a wary glance over his shoulder and steps aside. Yasha cautiously picks up her satchel and slings it across her back. Still keeping her eyes on him, she pushes past him and into the fresh air of the Xhorhas night. Once outside, he throws a cloak over her, obscuring any recognizable features.

"Where's Zuala?" She asks. "Did...did you free her as well?" She looks into his expressionless face, and her stomach sinks further. More urgently: "Where is my wife?"

"You have to go," he repeats.

"Where is my wife?" She holds her ground firm, and for a long pause, the two regard each other in a standoff. Eventually, Dorev's shoulders sag.

"They took her first." The words meld into Yasha's brain, stifling any coherent thoughts. Her body moves before her mind tells her to, and she's running, sprinting, towards the voices in the near distance. She can see the crowd after a few seconds, gathered near the center of the village. The Skyspear stands on a platform, her silver robes glittering in the light. Next to her, kneeling, with ropes binding her arms behind her, Zuala.

Yasha opens her mouth to scream her name, but the wind is knocked out of her before she could. Dorev, with his speed and accuracy, tackles Yasha to the ground.

"Orphan Maker!" Yasha struggles against him and catches his chin with her elbow. He loosens his grip long enough for her to get to her feet and make another charge, but he grabs an ankle and pulls her down again. "Yasha!" The sound of her real name uttered from the mouth of someone other than her wife jolts her attention away. In the distance, she can hear Zuala crying.

"We didn't do anything wrong!"

"You can't save her, Yasha. You have to leave." Dorev's voice borders on begging, and it startles Yasha into submission. "Please."

"I can't." Tears stream down her face, and she turns to look at Zuala again. She thinks that their eyes meet for a moment, but Zuala shows no sign of giving her away if they did.

"For her," Dorev pleads. "Zuala wouldn't want this."

"And for her crime, we sentence her to the ultimate punishment!" The Skyspear's words float over the noise. Yasha's breath hitches in her throat, and for a moment, she thinks she's going to empty the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

"I can't." But her voice is weaker this time.

"YASHA!" Zuala's scream pierces through the sky. It slams into Yasha with the force of a greatsword and cuts through her heart just as easily. She can't look. She can't watch her wife die. Fear and despair so deep that Yasha thinks she might drown in it takes root in her body and moves her, like some tragic puppet, away from Dorev, away from Zuala. One step, two steps, she runs. Zuala's voice echoes, but she isn't sure if it's real or in her head anymore. She doesn't care what direction she runs, only that she gets as far away as possible so that she couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't even  _ imagine _ the life draining from Zuala's beautiful eyes. She runs blinded by tears, half heaving an agonizing wail, half trying to run so hard that she can only think about taking in air for her taxed lungs.

She runs.

* * *

**Epilogue** :

When her skinless feet can no longer bear the weight of her, she collapses. In a delirium, she slips effortlessly into dreams. Zuala waits for her in a small house by the ocean. A gull caws enthusiastically in the blue skies overhead, and Yasha walks into their home, arms full of flowers.

The house transforms. The warm colors melt before her, Zuala's skin sinks into her skull, like wax against a flame. Yasha looks down and recoils from the flowers, now dead and maggot-ridden. Zuala cries her name again, and this time Yasha screams hers back. The roof to their house tears away as swiftly as tearing paper, revealing a red sky and dark clouds.

_ "Oh? What have we here?"  _ A new voice, one she's never heard before, enters the dream.  _ "And what do we call you?"  _ A pair of yellow eyes materializes in the ether above her.

"Yasha," she doesn't remember her mouth moving, but she hears her voice. Her name brings instant shame, ripping through her every nerve twice over. "Orphan Maker." Better, more befitting a monster like her.

_ "Orphan Maker? Oh, I like that. Tell me, Orphan Maker, what is it that brings you to me?"  _ An image of the Skyspear flashes through her mind. A single, crimson bolt flashes across the water in the far distance. Her hands ball up so hard, her nails draw blood against her palm. The pain feels real.

"Revenge."

Another flash of lightning blinds her. When her vision returns, the picturesque landscape vanishes bit by bit, replaced with bodies. Some of the corpses have faces she recognizes, some just featureless skin against bone. Blood covers her from head to toe. She can taste it on her tongue, and it tastes real.

"Am I dreaming?" She asks the yellow eyes peering over her - a formless god to her.

_ "Yes," _ the smooth voice responds.  _ "And what a beautiful dream this is." _

"No," Yasha shakes her head. "I want the other one. I want the one with my wife, the house, us."

_ "We're far past that one, my dear."  _ Yasha clutches her head.

"No! I don't want this!" She does the only thing she knows how. Her feet, no longer blistered, take her. She can sense the proximity of those yellow eyes, feel the anger and frustration. But she doesn't stop. She runs, and her surroundings once again melt around her. When they reform, a continuous blur of browns and greens and blues slowly taking the shape of more familiar objects, she finds herself standing at a cliff. Below her hundreds of feet down, white foam crests on jagged rocks. The roar of the water sounds like a voice beckoning her. Bits of the cliff crumble under her feet, and she looks up. A distant stretch of land, sister to the one on which she stood, peers back at her through a thin cloud of fog. Behind her, she can still feel the yellow eyes gaining on her, threatening to drag her back into that nightmare.

_ One more step _ , she thinks to her feet.  _ And we're done. _

She walks forward, and gravity does the rest.

Darkness takes her, a dreamless, restful slumber that she hasn't felt for, well, she wasn't wholly sure for how long. It wraps her in a cold embrace, and she gives into it entirely.

_ "Yasha."  _ A gentle voice stirs her from sleep.  _ "Yasha, wake up." _

"Zuala?" She murmurs. "Zuala, it's cold, come here and warm me up."

_ "Wake up."  _ Cold water slaps her face, and her eyes snap open. Her whole body aches, as if she'd torn every muscle and broken every bone. But she wills herself up, and miraculously, her arms hold the weight of her while she takes in her surroundings. Small mushrooms, pale green in light, cover the cave and instantly transport her back to her and Zuala's cave. The feeling of loss sucker punches her, and she retches dryly on the stones. She pulls herself further into the cave, away from where the water deposited her. Grief floods her body, leaving her shaking and sobbing in a fetal position.

It passes. The fact that it does surprises her, and she reaches for that feeling again for penitence, but it only comes as a reverberation of the original. She stands a little wobbly at first, but her legs stabilize after a few seconds.

A sound draws her attention. Was it a rumble? It sounds like thunder, but it had to be the sound of water. She follows it, unsure of where it would lead. She didn't have to walk far until she hits the back of the cavern.

The light of the mushrooms illuminates a large stone figure, twice the size of her, carved into the wall. Whoever had cut it had done so with reverence, sparing no detail down to the curls in the statue's beard. He is man in form, but the air around him crackles unnaturally. She studies his visage, the enormous bracelets adorning either wrist, the square of his jaw. She finally looks upon his eyes, his gaze fixed at something above her head. But she swears she can see bits of lightning flash in those stone pupils.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she says before she can stop herself and flushes quickly. "What am I doing? Talking to a statue."

_ "It is no intrusion, for I brought you here." _ A voice booms all around her, and she starts.  _ "You, who cast yourself into my waters, begging for salvation." _

"I didn't...I didn't want salvation," Yasha stammers. The air around her shakes, and she feels as though she's said something wrong.

_ "Your soul cried out, and I answered." _ The voice reverberates richly in a space far too small for the strength of it. She thinks of the yellow eyes, and how different it felt when that voice spoke to her. She drops to her knees, clutching her arms to her chest.

"I wanted to die," she sobs. "I'm so tired, I just...I just want to die." The air around her rumbles again, almost like a laugh.

_ "Yet, you keep living."  _ Yasha looks up at the face again, expecting it to look back, but it stoically stares forward into unfocused space.

"What do I do, then, if I have to keep living?"

_ "Stand, Yasha Nydoorin."  _ The name catches Yasha off-guard, and a dull ache blooms in her chest. She wipes her eyes, even as more tears come.  _ "If it is death you think you seek, then become my champion, and one day it may find you. Stand on the time I have gifted you, and prove to me that you are worthy of what I have given." _ But she doesn't move. She cries quietly into her hands, wishing nothing more than to be struck down that moment.

_ "Live, my love."  _ Zuala's voice, unbidden and so real, cuts through the rumbling echoes of the statue's peroration.

Yasha puts one foot under her, then the other, and hauls herself up. She wipes her face one more time with the back of her hands and nods. Above her, thunder roars as if acknowledging her pledge.

_ "So it is, so it shall be. Yasha Nydoorin, champion of Kord the Stormlord. _ " 


End file.
